


Hair

by Sandyclaws68



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, Marriage, Post Series, Professional skating competition, Viktor is retired, Viktor shows his inner fanboy, Yuuri is about to retire, Yuuri is always a fanboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 19:59:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15493545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandyclaws68/pseuds/Sandyclaws68
Summary: Yuuri and Viktor move into a new phase of their life and love together and everything is perfect.  With the exception of one, little problem. . .





	Hair

**Author's Note:**

> The competition Viktor prepares for and skates in is based off of the old World Professional Championship that used to be held every year in Maryland, USA.

Yuuri suspected he would always be completely hopeless when it came to Viktor’s skating.  All the things that had happened between them since the Sochi Grand Prix Final - coach and student, friends, rinkmates, lovers, fiances, and finally husbands - didn’t matter.  When it came to life on the ice he would always and forever be the number one Viktor Nikiforov fan.

Or, he supposed, it should now be the number one Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov fan.

Viktor’s retirement due to a knee injury midway through the 2016-2017 season didn’t change anything, except that Yuuri being able to watch him was restricted to choreography sessions.  In addition to Yuuri himself he became the primary choreographer for both MIla and Yurio, consulted with Chris and Phichit, and when Otabek came to St Petersburg for a visit Viktor worked with him as well.  Seeing for himself that Viktor was never happier than when he had multiple demands on his time and attention Yakov had withdrawn himself slightly from the day-to-day coaching responsibilities, waiting with bated breath to see how his protege picked up the slack.

Now, just about two years later Viktor was preparing himself for his first season in professional competition, with all of its different rules and new challenges.  He had held off on making the complete transition in order to fully rehab his knee, but also to concentrate on Yuuri’s Olympic run. With the PyeongChang gold medal firmly in hand he was able to take more time to work on his own skating, especially after Yuuri’s announcement that he would retire after the 2018 Grand Prix Final lifted an additional weight from his shoulders.  As they transitioned into the next stage of their lives the bond between them had never been stronger, or more resilient.

So it was with a deep sense of disappointment that Yuuri realized his husband was keeping something a secret.  Admittedly it was just about one of his programs for the upcoming season, but that didn’t make Yuuri feel much better as he watched Viktor move across the ice, earbuds firmly in place and a pleased smile on his face.

“Oi, Katsudon!  What’s that old fart doing?”

“Skating,” Yuuri placidly replied, knowing it would drive Plisetsky crazy.  He watched Viktor slide into an impeccable outside spread eagle before turning his attention to the surly eighteen year old beside him.  “Why? What do you think he’s doing?”

Plisetsky made a noise in his throat that, even though he was now taller than and outweighed him, would always remind Yuuri of an angry kitten.  “I know you’re just trying to annoy me so I’ll ignore that,” he said, keeping the snarling to a minimum. “I meant that.” He gestured to the ice, where Viktor had changed position, gliding in a straight line across the ice, feet parallel to each other, and one hand resting against his hip while the other was clasped around thin air.  “It looks like he’s playing Guitar Hero, but without a controller,” Plisetsky concluded.

Yuuri took a moment to study his husband and had to admit that their young friend was right.  Viktor’s motions definitely implied some air guitar playing, especially after he dug in a toe pick and rhythmically circled that stationary point, “strumming” in time as he moved.  Then his hands dropped as he gained speed, launching into a beautiful double axel. The guitar motions were back as he exaggerated the landing, drawing it out and leaning way into his outside edge, free leg bent and drawn up towards his chest, almost supporting one of his hands.  Then he stopped moving and bent his head, eyes drifting closed, deep in thought. The fact that his earbuds were still in suggested he was listening to whatever music had been chosen for a program.

“Yura, get back on the ice,” Yakov’s gruff voice sounded behind them.  “Katsuki, you’re done for the day, are you not?”

Yuuri nodded and bent over to slip his guards on, exiting the rink and all but collapsing on the closest bench, acknowledging Yakov’s tiny smile with a grin of his own.  “I’m not as young as I once was,” he said, startling a bark of laughter out of the Russian coach.

“None of us is,” Yakov replied, eyes twinkling just the tiniest bit.  “That was an excellent practice, though,” he went on in an encouraging tone.  “I like the contrast between your short and long program music choices, but I’m having a hard time seeing a theme in all of it.”

Yuuri laughed as he slid his feet from his skates, wiggling his toes in relief.  “If push comes to shove I can always go with ‘Divergence’, right?” He wiped down his blades, thinking that they’d need sharpening soon.  By the time he had the skates in their soft covers and stashed in his bag Yakov had returned his attention to the ice, ostensibly watching Plisetsky but the angle of his head gave away that he was watching Viktor.  “Coach?” he asked, getting to his feet and moving to stand beside Yakov. “What is Viktor working on?” He nodded toward where his husband was again skating.

“You don’t know?”  Yakov sounded genuinely surprised.

Yuuri shook his head.  “I know it’s his artistic program for the upcoming professional season, but he hasn’t told me anything else.”  He had to consciously keep his lip from forming a Viktor-esque pout. “He’s never kept a secret from me before.”

Yakov looked like he was forcefully keeping laughter caged inside himself.  “It’s just a program, Yuratchka,” he finally said, using the Russian diminutive of Yuuri’s name, something he rarely did.  “He told me that for this first professional season he wanted to pay a tribute to a skater who’s showmanship and ability to entertain inspired him when he was a child, and that he wanted the program to be a complete surprise the first time he performed it.  That’s why we’ve been working on it exclusively in private sessions.”

“So you’re not going to tell me anything either.”

At that Yakov did laugh.  “No. Now get out of here and let the rest of us work.”

****~**~**~**~**~****

At home just over an hour later Yuuri took a minute to survey the refrigerator and cupboards to determine if he needed to combine Makkachin’s walk with a grocery run.  They had enough eggs to make a rolled omelette, plenty of rice, and some fresh broccoli, carrots, and peppers. The broccoli looked a little wilted, but a quick toss in a pan with some olive oil would cover that up.  And hopefully there was - he pulled open the freezer - yes, there was still some of the last big batch of miso he had made. He pulled the container out and set it on the counter to begin thawing before whistling for Makkachin.

He was tempted to extend the walk, enjoying both the poodle’s company and the beautiful, early summer weather.  It was his favorite time of year in St. Petersburg; long hours of sunlight and just warm enough for comfort but without the humidity and bugs that came later in the season.  But a part of him couldn’t let go of his earlier talk with Yakov, and the knowledge that Viktor’s laptop, where he downloaded all of his music, was sitting at home. Undefended.

“I’m a horrible person, Makka, but I just can’t help the curiosity,” he said, rubbing the poodle’s ears with a chuckle when the dog barked in agreement.  They made their way back to the apartment with what some might consider unseemly haste, Makkachin gamboling about like a puppy. Yuuri was tempted to take the stairs, hoping to burn off a little excess energy, but Makkachin’s age was a pretty effective argument against that.

Back inside the apartment he set the pan of miso over low heat to finish thawing and start warming before he went to fetch Viktor’s laptop from where it habitually rested on the dresser.  Viktor was as open about his life as the day was long, so the computer wasn’t password protected in any way; It didn’t take Yuuri long to power it up and log on, opening the expansive music folder.

The file he was looking for was immediately apparent.  All the files were named with the song’s title, and when he enlarged the window information about the artist or composer and album came into view.  But one file didn’t follow that pattern.

_TopSecretProgramMusic.mp3_ was the filename.  And where the artist/performer information should have been it said _I mean it Yuuri_.

Yuuri grinned in the privacy of the apartment and double clicked on the file.  And of course it turned out to be the only file on any device of Viktor’s that was password protected.

His smile slipped slightly as he ran through all the possibilities of a password.  Nobody knew Viktor as well as he did, after all, so how hard would it be to get into the file?

He tried his own name.  Failed. His birthday. Another failure.  Viktor’s birthday. Makkachin. Stammi Vicino.  Yakov. Zolotse. Hasetsu. Eros.

He was vaguely aware that after the third failed attempt his phone had started pinging with text messages, but he ignored it in favor of trying to think of something else to try.  Then it rang, the familiar strains of _Yuri On Ice_ echoing through the room.  The ringtone that he had assigned to only one person.  Viktor.

He didn’t get the chance to say hello.  As soon as the call connected his husband’s voice came over the line.  “What part of ‘Top Secret’ was not clear to you, _solnyshko_?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri replied, certain his smile was audible in his voice.  “What part of husbands shouldn’t have secrets from each other is not clear to you, _anata_?”  Then something else occurred to him.  “How did you even know I was trying to open the file?”

Viktor’s laugh came over the phone, rich and smooth just like it was in person.  “I had one of Georgi’s friends - that computer programmer Sergei - set up the password protection so it would alert me as soon as someone made three failed attempts to crack it, and on each subsequent attempt.”  He chuckled again. “I’m pleased it worked so well, but a little annoyed at how many times I was texted. Perhaps you should give up now?”

“I’ll think about it.”  He typed in Yuri On Ice and laughed when he heard the text notification on Viktor’s phone, loud enough to be audible through the call.  “What time will you be home?” he went on as Viktor growled in his ear.

“About an hour.  Yakov says I’ve been slacking on my triple axel and I’ll need it in my technical program so we’re devoting some practice time to that.  And I’m turning my phone off!”

Yuuri chuckled before ending the call, ruffling Makkachin’s ears as he went into the kitchen to check on the soup.

****~**~**~**~**~****

The next day Yuuri stuck around after his own time on the ice was up, trying to catch even a hint of the music for Viktor’s artistic program.  But his husband was working with Lilia in the dance studio and had stationed Yakov as the door guard.

Yuuri never stood a chance.

****~**~**~**~**~****

Just over a week later they were enjoying a lazy Sunday at home, Viktor sprawled the length of the sofa with his head in Yuuri’s lap.  He smiled every time the younger man pushed his hair out of his eyes, making Yuuri grimace. “It is getting a little out of hand, I suppose,” he commented, feeling the excess length at the nape of his neck.

“I like your off-season hair growth habit, _solnyshko_ ,” Viktor commented, reaching up with a hand to tangle his fingers in the longer strands by Yuuri’s ears.

“Your’s is getting a little out of control too,” Yuuri said, smoothing down the bangs over Viktor’s left eye, surprised when the ends touched his bottom lip.  “Are you thinking about growing it out again?” he asked, carefully keeping the excitement in his voice under control. Viktor with long hair had been a fantasy of his for years, and to have the reality, maybe, within reach was a heady thought.  “Vitya?”

Viktor’s smirk was decidedly mischievous, and a little annoying.  “I was thinking about it,” he replied, pushing the fringe away from his eyes.  “Around a month ago.”

Yuuri gave that a moment’s thought, remembering when the last time Viktor had gone for a haircut was.  “You are, aren’t you? Growing it out again?”

The smirk changed to a loving smile as Viktor nodded.  “Probably not as long as when I was a teenager, but yes, I am.  I think I was getting a little jealous of Yura and all the great things he could do with his hair.”

Yuuri sat up straighter with a jolt.  “Is that some sort of hint about the mystery music and program?” he asked.

“No,” Viktor answered with a snort.  “Why would you think that?” When Yuuri’s face fell he chuckled and sat up, turning so he could face his husband.  “It doesn’t all have to be about skating, _miliy_.”  He cupped Yuuri’s face with one hand and nuzzled against his cheek.  “Maybe I just have fantasies about a certain someone pulling my hair in certain situations,” he whispered.

Yuuri’s face flamed as he shot to his feet, taking Viktor by the hand and all but dragging him to the bedroom.

****~**~**~**~**~****

“I can’t believe there isn’t even a whiff of rumor on-line about Viktor’s programs for this season,” Plisetsky commented as he scrolled through his phone.  He shut it off after a bit and bent over his legs in a stretch as they waited in the dance studio for Lilia.

Yuuri hid his grin in his t-shirt, using it to wipe sweat from his face.  “He and Yakov have certainly kept a tight lid on in,” he replied, dropping to the floor beside his young friend.  “All I’m trying to do for now is focus on my own skating; I hate the idea that people will cheer for me as nothing but the sentimental favorite.”

Plisetsky snorted again, but this time it sounded almost fond.  “You have two really great programs also,” he commented. “Especially your free.  It’s. . .” He sighed and leaned back, resting his weight on his hands. “I wish I knew how to get my footwork up to that level.”

“Practice your compulsory figures, like I’ve told you about a dozen times.”

“That’s so boooooooooring, though.”

Yuuri couldn’t help his snort of laughter.  “There are no shortcuts to great edge quality, Yuratchka,” he said, laughing harder at Plisetsky’s eye roll.

“There are no shortcuts to anything of quality in your skating,” Lilia’s voice sounded a split second before she crossed the threshold.  “So, to work!” She clapped her hands and the two students immediately got into position at the barre.

“ _Oui_ , madame!” they chorused, exchanging a quick look and stifling their chuckles.

****~**~**~**~**~****

A week later Yuuri was contemplating what to have for lunch that day when Yakov approached him before he could get his skates off.  “Katsuki, I need a favor.”

Yuuri felt his eyebrows climb in surprise.  “Yes, coach?”

“I have a meeting with the rink’s business manager in just over an hour,” the Russian answered.  “I had planned to spend most of the afternoon session finalizing Vitya’s step sequence for his technical program, but I can’t put off this meeting again.  Could you lend a hand with your husband’s practice after lunch? There’s no one I’d trust more with footwork.”

“You, uh, want me to help Viktor?  Help him choreograph part of his own program?”

Yakov chuckled at the look of shock on the other man’s face.  “Someone needs to help him. The requirement for this year’s technical program is a circular step sequence, and as you know -”

“Vitya hates circular step sequences,” Yuuri finished the coach’s sentence, smiling slightly.  “I have time to get some lunch, right?”

“Absolutely.  Just be back here in an hour and ready to coach.”

Just under an hour later, feeling rested and content after a decent meal Yuuri returned to the rink, waving at Yakov as the older man made his way to his office.  Viktor was on the ice warming up, so Yuuri didn’t hesitate to get his skates on and join his husband. The older man’s motions on the ice ground to a halt when he saw that it was Yuuri who had joined him.  He glanced toward the office. “Where’s Yakov?”

Yuuri smiled with just a hint of sadistic glee.  “He has a meeting, and he asked me to supervise you for a while since you’re supposed to finalize the step sequence for your technical program,” he replied.

Viktor’s eyebrows shot up.  “You?”

“Indeed.  Yakov’s exact words were ‘There’s no one I’d trust more with footwork.’.”  Yuuri started to stroke around the rink, muscles still sufficiently warm from his own, earlier, workout.  As he passed close to Viktor he reached out and smacked the other man on the ass. “Now show me what you can do.”

When they crossed paths again Viktor grabbed Yuuri by the hand and tugged him closer, spinning both of them around before kissing his husband’s forehead.  “Are you sure this isn’t just a ploy to find out my mystery music?” he growled, the timbre of his voice causing a shiver to chase down Yuuri’s spine.

Yuuri rolled his eyes and started to push Viktor backwards toward the center of the rink.  “This is your technical program, Vitya, and I already know that music. I helped you pick it out, remember?”  He spun away and skated towards where a small sound system was set up near the boards, queuing the song for Viktor’s technical program.  “Run through with no jumps!” he called out. “I want to see what flows into the step sequence!”

****~**~**~**~**~****

_Olympic Champion Yuuri Katsuki Ends Amateur Career With Record-breaking Grand Prix Final Victory_

_*Photo L to R: Phichit Chulanont (THA) silver; Yuuri Katsuki (JPN) gold; Emil Nekola (CZE) bronze*_

_In a whirlwind weekend in Vancouver reigning Olympic champion Yuuri Katsuki left no one in doubt that he is deserving of the top spot in men’s figure skating, setting new world records for the short program, the free skate, and the combined score.  It was an impressive exit for a competitor that many had thought washed-up and ready to retire just four years ago._

_The big off-ice news of the week was the freak elevator accident in the official hotel that ended with Russian phenom Yuri Plisetsky hospitalized with a concussion and Seung-gil Lee of Korea with a broken arm._

****

_Read more_

****~**~**~**~**~****

“Now on the ice: seven time World Champion and 2010 Olympic gold medalist Viktor Nikiforov!”

The crowd in the arena exploded into loud applause as Viktor made his way to center ice, waving as he did.  Yuuri could feel a smile tugging at his lips despite his nervousness. He was standing near a monitor and was able to hear what the television commentators were saying.

“. . . Nikiforov’s first professional competition, and many are wondering what kind of shape he’s in after rehabbing a knee injury.”

“I suspect we’ll see him in top form; shepherding a student to an Olympic gold can have that effect.

“And Katsuki is here tonight with his husband, fresh off his record-breaking victory at the Grand Prix Final.  He shares choreography credit for this technical program with Nikiforov, who says Katsuki’s input on the music was the deciding factor in his choice.”

“So here is Viktor Nikiforov, skating to _Hologram_ by the Japanese band NICO Touches The Walls.”

The music and vocals that lit up the arena may have been one of his favorite songs but Yuuri was totally focused on what Viktor was doing.  His opening triple axel was perfect, and he flowed through some easy footwork before executing his signature quadruple flip. The death drop into a sit spin had him pumping a fist, and the series of Russian split jumps got the crowd pumped up.  He did a delayed double axel before transitioning into a combination spin. When he hit the outside spread eagle Yuuri held his breath, knowing what was coming.

But the circular footwork sequence was spectacular, evidence of all the hard work Viktor had put into it.  All with his husband’s help, of course.

As Viktor struck his final pose, coming out of a textbook scratch spin, the crowd erupted, and Yuuri wanted to jump and shout with them, but he had to tend to his job as Viktor’s coach, especially knowing that Yakov was watching back in Saint Petersburg.  He stood at Viktor’s side as his marks were given, putting him in first place by a large margin, with one man left to skate.

When one of the television commentators approached for an interview Yuuri started to move away, but she shook her head and gestured for him to stay.  He kept silent as she congratulated Viktor on his skate, but his ears perked up at the first question.

“So you won’t even give us a hint about your artistic program?” the woman queried.  “There hasn’t been even a whisper of rumor about it on the net.”

Viktor laughed.  “Yakov and I have worked hard to keep it a secret,” he replied, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and pulling him closer.  “Not even my husband knows!”

The commentator looked toward Yuuri, who shrugged and scowled.  “It’s true. I know some of the choreography and what jumps will be included, but that’s it.  Nothing of the music, or the costume, or -”

“Anything, really,” Viktor concluded, pressing a quick kiss to his husband’s cheek.  “I will say that the program is intended as a tribute to a skater whose ability to entertain and enthrall an audience have been an inspiration to me since I first took to the ice.”

****~**~**~**~**~****

They slept in the next morning, Viktor wanting to get as much rest as possible.  “Even though I only did one quad,” he had commented the night before as an ice pack rested on his knee, “I still feel it in every bone in my body.”  He had groaned and melted when Yuuri started to rub his shoulders. “I’m not as young as I once was.”

Even as tired as Viktor had been after his performance Yuuri still managed to keep his record of out sleeping his husband.  He only woke up when Viktor wafted the scent of coffee towards the bed from the room service cart. He sat up, nose in the air, scenting like a hound on the hunt.

Viktor just laughed at him.  “Coffee, green tea, fresh fruit, and croissants,” he listed with a gesture to the piled dishware on the cart.  “Go splash some water on your face to wake up so you can eat.”

Breakfast was delicious, especially the strawberries that Viktor fed him with his own hand.

They didn’t go to the afternoon practice, Viktor preferring a day of relaxation as preparation for the evening’s skate.  They lounged in their hotel room, argued over which movie to watch, and Yuuri made a few last, futile, attempts to learn what music Viktor would be skating to that evening.  Viktor laughed and smothered his face with kisses.

“Just a couple more hours, _solnyshko_.  Surely you can wait that long?”

Once they arrived at the arena and got checked in Yuuri was too busy to think about Viktor’s artistic program.  He knew, better than anyone, how focused Viktor could get as he prepared to skate, so he spent most of his time running interference with presumptuous members of the American, Russian, and surprisingly Japanese press to keep them out of Viktor’s orbit as he went through his usual pre-competition routine.  When it was time to get changed into his costume Viktor disappeared into the locker room and Yuuri all but collapsed on a bench in the corridor, fishing his phone out of a pocket when he heard the text notification.

**From: Phichit**

<Lookin good, coach!>

<attachment: nicesuityuuri.jpg>

Yuuri laughed at the picture of a television, himself in conversation with a reporter clearly and prominently displayed.  Even he had to admit that it _was_ a nice suit, one of the few that Viktor had dragged Yuuri to his personal tailor to be fitted for.  The dark charcoal color worked well with his complexion and the pink tie, which had originally earned a dubious glance, was the highlight of the whole look.

**To: Phichit**

<Viktor will thank you for

noticing it was his tailor>

**From: Phichit**

<Is it true that you don’t know

what his music is cuz that’s

hilarious>

**To:Phichit**

<Shut up>

A familiar pair of hands descended on his shoulders.  “He’s right,” Viktor said as he pressed a kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head.  “It is a beautiful suit.”

“Mmmm,” Yuuri breathed, leaning back into his husband’s solid form.  Arms, encased in the white and bright red of a Russian team jacket, went around his waist and a chin poked into his shoulder.  Yuuri turned his head, intending to bestow a kiss on Viktor’s cheek, but he ended up recoiling in shock. “What the hell did you do to your hair?!”

Yuuri had gotten used to the extra length in the last couple of months; the longest layers just barely brushed Viktor’s shoulders.  But now, in place of the usually silky-smooth silver locks, was a riot of messy, shaggy, crimped curls, with some pins holding the right side away from his face.  “Viktor -”

“Shhhh, it’s all part of the costume.”  Viktor grinned, smiling blue eyes just visible through the curtain of riotous hair.  “Just wait, love, and you’ll see.”

With a roll of his eyes Yuuri turned his back to his husband.  “Fine. I’ve been patient all these months so I guess another hour won’t hurt.”

The call for the Men’s Singles competitors to take the ice for their warm-up sounded through the backstage area and Viktor moved toward the curtain that led to the rink, taking Yuuri’s hand as he did.  He handed off his blade guards but kept his jacket on, making Yuuri just the tiniest bit more curious about the costume. The warm-up passed quickly as well as surprisingly; Viktor did only single jumps and one double axel, and also kept his spins to a minimum.

“You were trying to keep your jacket from riding up and revealing the costume, weren’t you?” Yuuri accused as he handed Viktor his guards.  The only response was a sly smile.

Since Viktor had been placed first after the technical program he was skating last in the artistic so they had some time to wait.  They went backstage, Viktor removing his skates before gracefully flopping on the floor to keep stretching. Yuuri sat on the padded bench near where his husband was sprawled, keeping a watchful eye out for more impertinent reporters.

The time passed quickly, and when the second place skater took the ice Viktor rose from the floor and sat beside Yuuri to put his skates back on.  In one of their time honored rituals Yuuri knelt before his husband to make sure the laces were tied just right, tilting his head into Viktor’s touch when the other man brushed his hair away from his eyes.  Then they made there way to the curtain, stopping for a close hug before passing through to wait rinkside.

When VIktor’s name was finally called her took off his guards and removed his jacket, handing it all to his husband.  Yuuri felt his mouth drop open at the wild tie-dye t-shirt Viktor wore over his black pants, taking note of the peace sign design worked into the mess of color.  “Viktor?”

“Don’t ever take your eyes off of me,” the Russian ordered, pressing their foreheads together for a moment.

“As if I ever could.”

Thunderous applause greeted him as he made his way to center ice.  The spotlights were all dimmed and the crowd quieted in anticipation.  Yuuri held his breath, waiting. The first guitar riffs were familiar, but it wasn’t until the vocals started that he recognized the song and started to laugh.  No wonder Viktor had grown his hair out and adopted an insane style for this performance.

It also explained the air guitar.

When the music really kicked in he started tapping his foot and grinned when Viktor tossed his head, making his hair all but float at the line _Long, beautiful hair_.  But that was the last bit of posturing, because then he started to skate in earnest, landing a perfect triple axel before transitioning to a combination spin.  His footwork sequence was executed with a crispness and precision that made Yuuri gasp, and definitely showed which skater had inspired the program.

It was all so spectacular that Yuuri was barely aware of time passing, but he knew the song was drawing to a close when Viktor did what he had always done best and surprised everyone watching.  He stroked hard across the end of the ice, building up speed, then switched to skating backwards. He reached straight back with one leg, drove his toe pick hard into the ice. . .

And performed a perfect backflip, bringing the audience to its feet and making his husband’s knees go weak.  He finished up with another beautiful combination spin, grinning as the applause and cheers swelled to deafening as he finished.

When Viktor came off the ice Yuuri threw his arms around him, uncaring about the cameras trained on them or anything else, including the sweat of exertion that was soaking through Viktor’s shirt.  “You never cease to surprise me,” he mumbled into the damp cloth, enjoying the rumble through his body as Viktor chuckled.

“I’ll never stop, _solnyshko_ .” **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> This is [the program](https://youtu.be/mg7i6XLBBZE) that Viktor pays homage to in the story. I have been a HUGE Scott Hamilton fan since I was about 13 years old and loved the idea of little Viktor seeing this and being completely starstruck.


End file.
